‘Jenny Wren’ (1932) is EH. Young’s most accomplished study of complex family relationships, class distinctions, coming of age, infatuation, and the search for security among all women at any age and of whatever station in life to which they belong or think they are entitled to be. Note that in this enumeration, the word ‘love’ is conspicuously missing.
This is not a romance, but a struggle to maintain a class distinction that need not have mattered in the least. Unfortunately, it had mattered to the father of the two young sisters in the novel, a scholarly gentleman who had so far forgotten class distinctions as to have fallen in love with, and married Louisa, uneducated but cheerful, high-spirited and lovely. After the marriage, he remembered that after all, she was only a country girl, brought up on a farm, and despised her accordingly, making sure that their daughters did not learn their mother's vulgarisms. Upon his death, Louisa decides to keep the two girls by her, as well as to buy a house and take in lodgers for a living.
Louisa, for all her gaiety and charm, is not a good housewife, and her boarding house rather repels than attracts prospective lodgers. Dahlia, her elder daughter, thinks nothing of it, but Jenny is deeply disturbed by the vulgarity of keeping a boarding house, and particularly of the rumours that are whispered of her mother, that she had been unfaithful to her husband during his lifetime, and that the lover was still a faithful follower. Jenny loses no chance in showing Mr Thomas Grimshaw her scorn, until one day he turns on her with the information that Louisa owed him a large sum of money.
It is at this point that the divergences begin. For the young girls, this is by way of a coming of age story. Dahlia has her own narrative (‘The Curate's Wife’), so this book is mostly about Jenny. There are two other key women, Louisa Rendall and her sister Sarah, who comes visiting, and decides to stay and run the house as a respectable boarding house should be run. Sarah should know, for until recently, she had been housekeeper in a great house, where she had worked every since she had been a scullery maid. Upon the death of the master, the household had been broken up, and Sarah came to her sister while she looked for another situation. Once installed, however, she sees that she has landed herself a much more satisfactory place than any that might be offered to her. And so she plans and schemes, in the kindest way possible.
Louisa Rendall, although she stays in the background, is one of the nicest people in the book, if even her morals are a little ragged and her manners and accent a little less than refined. She bursts with love and anxiety for her daughters’ futures, and at the end, sacrifices herself and her dreams of independence, so that her social status might not interfere with the daughters' chances of making respectable (and evenly matched) marriages.
Jenny is fastidious and longs for the good things in a different class of society - books, theatre, good dresses. In this she is a very foolish girl, as events prove. One of the lodgers, a cabinet-maker’s assistant, dreams of having his own shop one day. He is smitten by Jenny’s dainty taste and looks, and pays court to her, but Jenny is carried away by dreams of a handsome princeling on a white horse. When he does appear, his horse is not white, and he isn't quite as democratic as Cinderella’s prince. Indeed, Jenny fears to reveal her identity to him, in case her class should betray her, which happens when after a few enchanted weeks, she tells him the truth about herself. The lodger, Mr Cummings, tells Jenny that she is unthinking, insensitive, selfish and self-centred. When she protests that nobody seems to like her for long, he very bluntly replies,
“Because you only like them yourself when you're in trouble. I know just happy or miserable you are by the way you treat me. When you're happy, you don't see me.”
A thoroughly enjoyable book, but not recommended if this is your first EH Young novel. It is a little slow in the beginning, and there is no apparent plot, just life unfolding itself the way it does, without direction. I missed Young's gentle irony, except in the marvellous portraits of Aunt Sarah and Miss Jewell, the Competition, whose lodger is the highly respectable curate Mr Sproat. Nothing else shows up the distinction in the two generations as these two old women.
Not only is the book a study of types, it is a fairly accurate picture of life between the wars, when real security and social standing in a woman's life meant that not only had she to be well educated, but to be married to an educated man. Not until the great upheaval in the next few years would things settle enough to make a mockery of class and rank as defining actual worth.